Ink Stains
by Kannabel
Summary: War leaves stains, like ink spills, on the minds of everyone it touches. There are some things they can't forget. For Hermione it's her time at Malfoy Manor. The memory haunts her, though not for the reasons everyone expects.
1. Our Secret

Hermione stood on the edge of platform nine and three quarters and stared down the line. The station was quiet, empty save for Hermione and a small number of station workers; the Hogwarts Express wouldn't be arriving for a few hours. She'd planned it that way, allowing herself the time to sink gradually into the world of magic before it crashed around her. After months away, and years of disaster, she was more nervous about stepping on the train to Hogwarts than she had been since her first year. She hadn't even seen her friends since the week after the final battle, and then they'd been so busy dealing with the aftermath that time alone had been precious and scarce.

She shook herself and walked away from the line, finding a seat she settled in to wait. The platform hadn't changed much since she'd first stepped through the barrier eight years ago. There were a few minor adjustments, but any scorch marks had been washed away and broken walls mended. It was as though the war had never happened.

It wasn't long before other students started arriving. First years with popping eyes nervously pushing trolleys, some of their luggage was stacked higher than they were tall. Muggle parents wiped sweaty hands and stared around them with eyes as wide as their children's. Only a few wizarding families were there so early, they were more relaxed. Mothers nagged their children and smiled politely at the staring muggles. Families stuck together, particularly the muggle ones, little knots holding tight in a growing flood of otherness. Hermione smiled. That had been her once.

Her smile faltered as she remembered her own parents and the reason she sat alone

"Hermione!"

Her heart leapt a moment before collision. Ron grabbed her in a bear hug, lifting her up from her seat.

"Ron!" she protested, "I can't breathe!"

He set her on her feet, they grinned at each other for a moment before the youngest Weasley took his place, engulfing Hermione.

"I can't believe you didn't visit all summer," Ginny complained.

Hermione smiled and squeezed the younger witch. "I was busy," she said.

"I know." Ginny pulled back. "How are you parents going?" She spoke quietly, enclosing them in a bubble of privacy. Still, Hermione glanced around, checking for anyone she couldn't trust who might hear.

 _Don't be stupid,_ she scolded herself, _the war's over, no one cares about where your parents are._ Some habits were hard to break.

"They're okay," she said. "Their memories all came back fine, but they're having some trouble adjusting."

Hermione trailed off. The Weasley's already knew that, she'd been writing letters to them all summer. They'd supported her through the search for her parents, the fight for their memories, and everything that came after. Same as Hermione had done her best to be there for them, if mind if not in body, as they grieved for Fred. What was there to say?

"You're brilliant Hermione," Ron said softly. "The only reason I'm back is because Mum's making me. In your place . . . well, I'd probably do nothing." He smiled.

Hermione hugged her elbows, as if she needed a reminder of how much her parents hated magic now. She knew they were scared of her, of what she could do. The trust that had existed so naturally before had vanished. If it was her parents choice Hermione would never touch magic again, but she couldn't do that, not after she'd fought so hard for this hidden world.

A hush fell over the crowd. Hermione and the two Weasleys turned with everyone else. Harry Potter, the boy who defeated Voldemort _twice_ , had arrived. Eyes followed his every step. Hermione's heart ached for her friend, he shot furtive glances from under his hair, it was longer and wilder than last time she'd seen him, covering his forehead completely and hanging in his eyes. His shoulders were hunched in a defensive position that was too familiar to Hermione.

She called out and waved. Harry's eyes darted over and a smile washed over his face. He hurried to join the small group. Hermione studied his face for signs of stress; another habit she found impossible to break. The shadows under his eyes were lighter than they had been in years. Hermione smiled with relief.

Greeting and hugs flew around the circle. Hermione stuck to Harry, she nudged him in a small pocket of quiet afforded them as the Weasleys began to bicker

"How are you Harry, honestly?"

He smiled at her, the light beaming out of him was brilliant. "Never been better," he said. "What about you, 'Mione? Is everything okay with your parents?"

She shrugged. "As good as you could expect. They still don't want me to be here."

Harry squeezed her shoulder. "You've always done the right thing Hermione. You kept them safe, now it time to think about yourself." He grinned. "It's strange, isn't it, for once we should have a nice quiet year, just school and quidditch." His eyes shone with longing.

Hermione laughed. "Don't say that too loud. You might jinx it."

"Why, Hermione, I didn't think you believed in such things," Ron teased. Ending his argument with Ginny.

Hermione flushed. "I don't," she snapped.

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express blew as it pulled into the station on squealing brakes. Hermione's friends laughed and hurried off, eager to secure a good carriage.

Silence fell around Hermione once more. She took a deep breath, taking in the swirls of bright robes that crowded the platform. She was back where she belonged, where magic was real and there was an entire hidden world worth fighting for. Soon she'd be back at Hogwarts, going through her final year, one last chance to live in the castle and lose herself in study before she had to face the real world.

The level of muttering around her spiked. Hermione glanced around and there he was, not a single shiny blonde hair out of place. He strolled through the crowd as casually as he always had. Shoulder's back, chin up, a frightened hunch had never been his style. He walked as though he owned the school, as though the mutterings and filthy glares weren't directed at him. As though the war had never happened.

Hermione's back stiffened. He even had his sleeves rolled up, she could see the edge of his tattoo peeking through the the folds in his shirt. Thinking of the skull and snake that coiled around his forearm made her sick.

Draco Malfoy met Hermione's stare and smirked. His look was a challenge.

 _Our secret._ The words were a whisper at the edge of Hermione's mind, she couldn't tell whether they were her thoughts or his, that line had been blurred long ago.

 _I haven't told,_ they thought. _Have you?_

 _No._

Hermione turned away, half ran across the platform. Pushing people out of her way, fighting to find her friends.

 _So . . . still our secret._


	2. The Feast

The feast on the first night at Hogwarts was always a grand sight but the year after Voldemort fell was something special. The castle was lit from the basements to the tip of the astronomy tower with torches, candles and dancing lights that zoomed past the student's heads as they walked. The rubble from the battle had been cleared and the halls repaired. The place shone as it hadn't since Winnifred the Tidy had been headmistress a few hundred years earlier. Students hurried up from the carriages, chased by dancing lights and chattering excitedly.

Banners hung above the doors to the great hall - yellow, red, green, and blue - the colours of the houses, each embroidered with the mascot of their house. The stitching of each design was so detailed that each animal looked as though it would jump out of the fabric at any moment, though for once no magic was involved.

Students clustered beneath the banners, waiting for the doors to open. Draco hung near the back of the crowd. The stone at his back radiated cold, he rolled his shoulders, enjoying the dig of rough stone in his muscles. He needed it. He didn't want to let himself get carried away in the easy joy of the night. He wanted to remember the darkness the castle held.

Pansy was by his side. Her appearance on the train had been a surprise to him. He hadn't thought her education would be important enough to suffer through an eighth year at Hogwarts, not when the Parkinson's had a fortune almost as large as the Malfoys for her to fall back on. Even after the war money meant something. She was silent and cold at his side. There wasn't one twitch in her expression that betrayed any discomfort, and, though Draco knew his face was just as stony, he was impressed. It took a lot of will to ignore stares or sneers from most students in the hall. Even more to do so with dignity. He and Pansy managed to do both.

He saw Hermione by the doors. She was his opposite, as bright and alive as they'd made the castle. She drew as many stares as he did, though the eyes turned towards her and her friends burned with adoration. The whole world loved her. He saw Weasley staring at her, noticed when she did as well. His jaw clenched at the blush that flashed across her face. She turned and said something to Potter that made him grin as wide as the cheshire cat. Draco tore his eyes away.

The doors opened. The light that spilled out was blinding. Waves of students fell back, throwing hands over their eyes. Draco squinted at the roof, at a guess, twice the usual number of candles floated between the tables and the roof. The roof had been restored to its usual magic. Outside the night was clear, and probably freezing cold, but inside the great hall all that lasted or mattered were the stars. Thousands of them added their light to the room. They were cold and distant as diamonds. Perfect because they were untouchable. No mess on earth could sully their beauty, obscure it perhaps, but the stars would always return.

Hermione was looking up to the sky as well. Her friends had gone ahead of her, laughing on their way to claim prime positions at the Gryffindor table. Their merriment faded from Hermione's face until she was as grey as the walls behind her.

 _What is she thinking?_ Draco watched her drag her attention back to earth. Without thinking he reached out, wanting to understand what she felt. The answer was simple, she was remembering. The banished darkness in the castle had found a stronghold in her. She remembered all the death and blood and destruction. She was thinking about all the people who would never see the stars again. She had stood in the very same spot and seen the Weasley's falling apart over Fred's corpse.

Her eyes flashed and Draco was shoved away from her thoughts. She spun, her eyes latching on to his across the crowded room before her hair stopped flying. She was paler than before. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked. Blood rushed back into her cheeks. Draco would bet on her hands being clenched into fists, ready to fly at his face. _Good._ Anger was better than fear and grief.

She stormed into the great hall. Draco caught a glimpse of her hands, still curled in tight balls, and his smirk edged towards a genuine smile.

"Shall we?" Pansy asked, one well defined black eyebrow raised.

Draco pushed away from the wall. "May as well."

They entered the hall together. The whispers that followed them became a shared burden, it was impossible to know who they were really about, nor did it matter. Every scuff of a chair on flagstones, every cough, every murmured comment, no matter how innocent, to Draco's ears they were all pointed remarks aimed at him.

They found seats near the back end of the Slytherin table. One glance was enough to tell who had lost the war. Slytherins sat with their heads between their shoulders, the entire table subdued. Looking down the table Draco knew most of them were innocent, their families as well. Some had been his enemies a year ago, as much as Hermione. He recognised one kid, a third year, whose mother had died on the floor of Malfoy Manor for fighting the dark lord. He couldn't remember her name. Like everyone else at the table she sat in shame. It was a painful sight.

Draco lounged as much as was possible on the wooden bench and surveyed the hall. "Do you reckon there'll be many first years for us?" he asked Pansy.

She sat pin straight, a textbook example of posture. She sent him a disapproving look. Raising her eyebrows specifically at the ruffled state of his uniform, particularly at the sleeves that he'd shoved up to his elbows. "I don't see how the war could affect how many first years are sorted into Slytherin," she said haughtily.

"I suppose." They fell silent, watching the last few stragglers file in. The last, a ravenclaw, stopped in their rush to glare at Draco. Draco smirked. Though no teachers move the doors to the great hall swung shut.

"For Merlin's sake will you please pull yourself together?" Pansy hissed a moment later. "People are staring."

"People would stare no matter what I do," Draco answered.

Pansy kicked him under the table. Above it, where people could see, she was a picture of indifference. "That doesn't mean you need to look a mess."

"It's what they expect."

"So?" Pansy's voice was angered but her face remained smooth and calm. Anyone who was sitting out of earshot, which was everyone, would think that they were having a civil conversation. Perhaps about the weather. "You're not going to get anywhere if you don't try."

"People don't want to forget the war Pans. No one's going to give us a free pass."

"Everyone wants to forget the war," she countered, her voice soft.

Draco looked to the Gryffindor table. Hermione was laughing with her friends, the dark look that had overtaken her outside a distant memory. This whole night was about forgetting; if everything was clean and shiny and bright then the horror couldn't last. That must've been what they were thinking. Well, it wasn't going to work.

"No one wants to forget why they fought. They won't forget the bad guys. Which includes me."

"What do you expect when you strut around with your mark on display? You're making it _impossible_ for them to forget. Nothing is going to change that way."

He tried a smirk, it felt wrong. "I'm just giving them what they want." _I'm giving Hermione space, and her friends a reason to hate me._ If he did that nothing ever needed to change, he'd do enough to avoid prison but no more. He didn't see the point.

Pansy was shaking her head. "You'll take the rest of us down with you."

"Then get away from me."

She shook her head again, silky black hair flying around her face. "No one else came back."

He watched her from the corner of his eye. She had no better options. She wouldn't be with him if she did. He snorted. _I guess we're both stuck. Shocker._

The great doors opened again and the first year's flooded in. The sorting started. The first two went to Ravenclaw, the next to Hufflepuff, then two Gryffindors, another Ravenclaw. Draco was starting to think that Pansy might have a point about there being less Slytherins this year when the hat called it. "SLYTHERIN!"

The excited chatter at the other tables cut off as everyone turned to look. Draco clenched his jaw. The kid looked terrified. He slid off his stool, paler than the ghosts that were hanging out behind him, and tottered towards the Slytherin table. Those sitting closest to the front gave the kid a reserved welcome and made sure he sat before he collapsed. Draco's hands curled into fists. Fists he made sure to hide beneath the table. No one needed Draco Malfoy Ex Death Eater and General Asshole standing up for them. They'd probably think he was building himself a nice little army.

The teachers hurried on with the sorting.

In the end there was just as many new Slytherins as there had been any other year. The only difference was how they sat, hunched and shaky, at the end of the table, as though hoping no one would notice them, not even the members of their own house. They barely touched their food. While Draco pushed his own meal around his plate, and Pansy ate as heartily as she ever did, he watched them. Their lack of appetite concerned him. He remembered his own welcoming feast, he'd eaten so much that he'd barely been able to move the next day, he'd been ecstatic and exactly where he belonged. His first few years had been good like that.

These kids, well. They looked like they might quit the school before the first week was up. Only a few tried to make them comfortable. No one else risked it. They could sort out their house later, behind closed doors where no one else could judge them. Draco hoped the first years would find all the joy belonging he had in Slytherin.

Problem was that there was no one to blame. Slytherin house had developed its bad reputation over decades. No amount of evidence would change anyone's opinion on that front. There was no one person whose view-point they could change and solve the problem. It was ingrained.

With the benefit of hindsight Draco knew that was what Hermione stood against, all the pureblood prats (like himself) who didn't care to learn what truly made a muggleborn. They'd all prefered to stay locked away in their tower, looking out and judging without any understanding of reality. A reality where each person was unique and flawed. One really bad egg had been enough to corrupt generations and now the tide had turned.

Draco pushed away from the table. "I'm done."

"You'll miss the announcements," Pansy said.

"I'm sure you'll catch me up."

She snorted then took a delicate sip of her drink. "Fine, but don't cry to me if you get caught out."

"I won't."

He left. Even in the entrance hall the light cast from hundreds of candles and torched was enough to blind. Draco turned away, seeking darkness and quiet. He'd grown used to solitude during the war.

It was better outside the castle. The night was cold the stars sparkling as they only did when the air below was crisp and empty. Draco exhale a cloud of fog into the dark. _Alone at last,_ and tired. Already he could feel the strain of expectations settling on him. Eighth year at Hogwarts was his last chance to escape the past. At what an opportunity it was. He could bust his gut fighting against something that was never going to change, not in his life anyway.

He would never be forgiven. He'd spend his life living off the fortune his family had gathered over the centuries. It'd probably be drained by the time he died. He doubted anyone would marry an ex death eater, especially not of the Malfoy variety, so there would be no problems with inheritance. The Malfoy name and fortune would die with him.

Draco started to walk. The castle was lit up like a beacon at his back. You could probably see it for miles, even in the Forbidden Forest. He wouldn't be getting lost. No matter how he tried.

He was halfway down to the lake when he heard her breathing. He tensed, ready for attack. She was no more than a shadow, he could see her shoulders rising with each shuddering inhale. He took a step closer. He recognised the bushy hair, like an eighties goddess. _I hope she never straightens it._ A stupid thought.

SNAP

Hermione jumped, half a heartbeat later her wand was at Draco's throat. Even in the dark he could see the fire in her eyes. He raised his hands slowly and lifted his foot from the twig that had given him away.

"You should be with the other students, Malfoy. Ten points from Slytherin."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he shot back.

"That won't work. You're not a prefect anymore."

"Are you?"

She frowned. "Did you follow me?" The point of her wand hadn't wavered for a moment and Draco didn't dare lower his hands.

"No." The wand still didn't move. "I hadn't even realised that you'd left." Draco was surprised at that. He'd been aware of her from the moment he saw her at platform nine and three quarters. He had to know where she was to avoid her.

"Good." Her arms snapped to her side. She stormed past him, back as rigid as if someone had nailed a plank of wood to her spine. She made it six steps before she turned, as Draco expected she would, and asked, "Are you going to tell?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Draco shrugged. "Who would believe me? Besides, there's no one in my life who would care."

For a second he thought Hermione would argue. Illogically, of course. Then she snapped her mouth shut and turned on her heel.

 _Why won't you tell?_ He thought.

 _I don't know how._ Hermione paused at the entrance to the castle, silhouetted against the school's attempt to drive off the past. She looked back at him and Draco wondered what she saw.

To him she was a shadow. A reminder. She stepped into the castle, leaving him alone with his memories.


	3. Nightmares

She was in Malfoy Manor, screaming on the floor as Bellatrix Lestrange stood above her and cackled. Her throat was raw from her screams, but the rest of her was blissfully numb. The black haired witch danced around, singing curses that should have reduced Hermione to a pain wracked shell, incapable of any thought, instead Hermione watched her captor through eyes streaming with tears and wondered what the hell was going on.

Bellatrix knelt and pulled Hermione up by the front of her jacket. Hermione saw her smile, the madness in her eyes, the witches skin was smooth and pale - it reminded Hermione of someone, but for the life of her she couldn't remember who. There was fog clinging to all her thoughts. She was too slow she wouldn't find a way to escape at this rate, and she had to escape, that was the only certainty. Ron and Harry needed her. Bellatrix leaned in closer, her cheek brushing against Hermione's. Black curls obscured Hermione's sight. The witch shifted and something hard and pointed dug into Hermione's ribs. The curls cleared and Hermione saw Malfoy.

His skin was pale and smooth, his expression empty, his stood as motionless as a statue. Only his eyes showed any sign of life. Grey fire. Hermione wondered how it didn't burn him up. His eye blazed across the room, she couldn't look away. The boy she saw could have been carved from marble but the voice in her head was alive and strong and desperate.

"Crucio," Bellatrix whispered, her breath brushing across Hermione's ear.

 _Scream, Granger! NOW!_

Hermione felt nothing but the raspiness in her throat but she screamed until her voice gave out.

Hermione dragged herself towards consciousness. It was like limping over sand. Every moment the dream clung to her, slowing her down and trying to drag her back down. She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy on her bed. It was red and gold, a perfect reproduction of the bed she'd been sleeping in for the last seven years, right down to the little singe in the corner where a spell had gone astray. It could even _be_ her bed, but she doubted they'd brought it down from Gryffindor tower. Hermione sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Going down to the common rooms was a risk, she could run into _him_ again, but anything was better than lying in the dark in her bed where the nightmares had caught her once already.

Everyone had nightmares every now and then, but there was no sense in sitting around waiting for them.

The eighth year common room was lit by a low burning fire in the corner of the room. Flickering heat dwelt in that corner. Hermione hooked a blanket from where it was folded over the back of a couch, she wrapped herself up and sat leaning against a footstool with her arms wrapped around her knees. The flames flickered and snapped, slowly devouring the chunks of wood. As she watched the fire seemed to dance above the surface, leaning the fuel beneath untouched. It was an illusion. Left long enough Hermione knew the fuel would be eaten away until the flames themselves died.

Hermione shut her eyes, wishing the tired itch that already devoured them would go away. Two days she'd been at school and already she felt buried. She'd spent so much time over the holidays trying to make amends with her parents that studying had been next to impossible. She'd hidden her books under her bed, assisted by a concealment charm, reading them late at night when there was no risk of her parents interrupting.

She sighed, her books were sitting at the foot of her bed. Study would be a productive way to use her time while she couldn't sleep. The only productive way.

Instead her thoughts turned, inevitably, to her nightmare. How many times had she woken from the same scene? Too many times to bother counting. It was never quite the same, different moments squished against each other, but all of it real all of it a memory. Once she'd dreamt of their arrival at the manor and seconds later Harry and Ron burst into the room, ready to save her. Not knowing that she'd already been saved.

Why hadn't she told them? All the times that they treated her like she was broken, the afternoon Ginny found her fast asleep and screaming, when aurors were gathering evidence for Malfoy's trial, all were perfect opportunities to set things straight, but each time she'd stayed silent. She'd let everyone believe that Malfoy was, at best, a wimp who stood by and watch her be tortured when the truth was that he'd protected her; time and time again. She was confused. That was all. If the war had taught her anything is that it's impossible to have all the answers all the time, but she'd be damned if she didn't try. Draco Malfoy though, he was a whole bundle of unanswered questions. Hermione could assume, she could hypothesise, but she could never be sure why he did what he did. How could she go to Harry and Ron with assumptions and guesses? They'd have questions and she didn't have the answers. Better to let it lie.

The fire popped, a log jumped in place before settling back down among the coals. The noise failed to disturb Hermione as her breathing deepened and evened. Ideas for a potions essay trickled through her mind. She'd remember them in the morning and think about it properly then. Hermione Granger had never forgotten an idea she'd had right before bed, as far as she knew anyway.

Upstairs Draco Malfoy slept fitfully, flashes of memory from a time he hoped was well in the past danced through his mind. He was running for his life as a burning building crashed around him. He was staring into the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore, no way out and no way through. He was standing in his house, his aunt singing curses and dancing around her victims. The faces flashed by, dozens of people he didn't know, a few he did. Then there was Hermione's. He held on. Her face flickered and danced before him but he couldn't let go, he'd finally figured it out and there was no way he'd let Granger feel her own pain. He held her mind. Like holding someone's hand in the hospital, not letting them be alone, telling them not to worry. No words necessary. Draco Malfoy held Hermione Granger and waited for the waiting to be over; the doctor would come, the pain would go away, and everything would get better.

He was tossing in his bed, sheets tightening around his body as he rolled. He needed to do something, needed to help, but he couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

Then, as gradually as they had come the nightmares faded away. Draco could smell old parchment and sunlight. Scrolls and old faded ink faded in and out of his mind, from time to time a cauldron intruded, the potion inside bubbling merrily. Everything was peaceful, everything in control. He relaxed, the binds of his sheets loosening as he fell into a deeper sleep, sinking below the memory of war and fear, letting his stress run on without him.

He woke the next morning rested and peaceful. Astounded at the feeling, and he'd thought of the perfect topic for his potions essay.


	4. Harry

Harry Potter was not impressed with the sleeping arrangements. Sure, his bed was nice, perfect actually, soft as a dream, covered in heavy red and gold quilts, and draped with a curtain that when seal magically shut out all noise from outside. No, the bed was fine. Harry's problem was more related to the boy sleeping next to the boy sleeping next to him. Draco Malfoy. They'd spent too many years hating each other for the situation to be remotely comfortable. Suspicion grew in Harry from the moment Malfoy had showed up at platform nine and three quarters and despite his best efforts to ignore it the feeling only grew.

When shown to the dorms Draco had looked around with blank eyes and walked straight to the only bed draped with green and silver. It sat between two Gryffindor beds, one that had Harry's trunk at its foot, the other which had Ron's. The boys glanced sideways at each other.

"You're bloody kidding." Ron, blunt as ever.

Though Harry agreed he shot a glance to Malfoy, waiting for an explosion, a smirk, or anything in between. Nothing. He must of heard, but all he did was lay back on his bed, expression empty, and shut the curtains.

That was the end of it.

Or it could have been, if only Harry had let it. Instead he watched Malfoy, morning and night, coming and going, always with that uncaring expression. Harry couldn't decide whether it was an act or whether the space behind Malfoy's eyes was as blank as it appeared. He held his peace through growing suspicion, but only until the weekend.

"What d'ya reckon Malfoy's playing at?" He hissed over Saturday breakfast. Hermione jerked, her elbow knocking a glass of orange juice. Ron caught it before anything could spill. He raised one faded red eyebrow at Hermione, his gaze steady and sure. Hermione blushed and ducked her head, a curtain of manic curls sealed her away from prying eyes. Ron smiled and drew his hand back to his side.

"What'd you say, Harry?"

Harry, who had been too busy observing the Slytherin table to notice the exchange between his friends, repeated himself.

"What makes you think he's up to anything?" Hermione spoke from behind the shield of her hair, one hand scratching away at homework as she did.

"He's acting strange," Harry said, hearing the defensiveness that had already crept into his voice and hating it. He knew he shouldn't keep down this path, but still, he didn't steer away. Old habits died hard.

Hermione's derisive huff set her hair swaying. "This isn't sixth year, Harry. Whatever Malfoy's doing with his time I'm sure it's perfectly innocent and none of your business."

"I was right then," Harry said, somewhat sulkily.

Hermione didn't bother with a reply. Harry's focus returned fully to the Slytherin table. Malfoy sat in a corner by himself, eating quietly, only occasionally baring his teeth at people passing by. The scene made Harry's skin crawl. Malfoy _had_ to be up to something, he always was, Malfoy's animosity was fact of Harry's life, like gravity, or rain. Now that it was gone . . . someone had ripped the rug out from under Harry's feet.

Ron was watching over his shoulder, not bothering to hide the subject of his attention. Malfoy glanced up, caught them staring, arched one elegant eyebrow. The boys looked away.

"Let it go, mate," Ron advised. "It's not like the ferret could do much damage without backup." Hermione snorted. Ron spoke around the breakfast he'd resumed eating, Harry got an unpleasant view of half chewed bacon and scrambled eggs, "You disagree?"

Hermione looked up, the curtain of her hair finally falling back. "I don't think you should underestimate him."

"You think I should keep an eye on him?" Harry asked eagerly. That idea appealed to him immensely. His aim for the year was normalcy, he'd thought Quidditch and homework, his friends and Ginny, but he'd forgotten how normal keeping tabs on Malfoy was for him.

"No."

Conversation over. Harry didn't even try to argue.

Later, Harry left Ron and Hermione in the library. He was hurrying up to the eight year dorms to dump his assignments before meeting Ginny. She'd be waiting. He couldn't let her down, wouldn't let himself do that. This year, she and his friends took absolute priority.

Yet, as he rushed through the halls he heard a voice he knew his feet slowed. _Keep moving, remember Ginny._ The voice echoed through the halls once more. Keen as a blade, dry as flour, polished and cultured. Undeniably Malfoy.

Harry stopped.

He travelled sideways, following the clear note of Malfoy's voice, the murmuring reply of whoever he spoke to. The words started to come clear.

"Death eater, piece of shit," the other voice hissed.

Malfoy laughed, low and uncaring. "I don't give a damn what you call me, just have the balls to say it to my face. Leave the other's out of this." Calm infused his tone, a deeper threat than any that could be found in the threats and insults the other presented.

"All you snakes deserve what's coming for you," the voice proclaimed, confident and strong. "You're the rotten limb, someone needs to cut it off the save the rest of us."

Harry frowned. Something niggled at the edge of his mind. Something that was beyond Malfoy and Hogwarts. Something bigger. Something like Voldemort, blood purity, the war. Something about saving a society through destruction and death. Something rotten. He was right about needing to keep an eye on Malfoy.

Then Malfoy spoke again. "I won't let you touch them." Cool, calm, certain.

A laugh, heavy and rough. A thugs laugh. "I'd like to see you try."

Harry was unbalanced all over again. He didn't know what the conversation was about, he didn't like not knowing. Secrets got people killed. Harry didn't want any secrets this year.

"Harry!"

He whipped around, ready to explain his presence. Hermione's forehead was furrowed. "What -"

"I thought you were studying with Ron," Harry cut in.

Hermione's expression began to clear. "I left a book in my room. I thought you were meeting Ginny."

"I am."

The conversation from around the corner had halted. Harry was glad, he didn't want Hermione to hear, just in case she realised that he'd been listening.

"Come on." She hurried past. Straight towards the absence of Malfoy's voice. Harry rounded the corner and crashed into her frozen body. He peeked over the mass of her hair. Malfoy stood in the corridor, head back against the stone wall, eyes closed.

Hermione inhaled sharply and Malfoy sprung to his life. For a moment his eyes were wide and surprised then his smirk fell into place.

"Granger."

She tensed in a whole different way. "Malfoy."

Harry started. There was something off about Hermione, a undercurrent to her voice that he couldn't understand. He looked from the impenetrable mess of Hermione's head to Malfoy and his static smirk. Habit forced into reality. Hermione ducked her head.

"Come on."

They moved quickly past Malfoy, no one saying a word. At the next corner Hermione glanced back, looked sharply forward. Harry looked behind them, Malfoy was watching them leave. Though, Harry realised that 'watching Hermione' would be more accurate; it was as though he didn't exist.

The empty expression had fallen away, but what was left in its place was as impossible to read. There was too much emotion on a face too foreign to him. He peeked under Hermione's hair, knew what he saw there instantly.

It was decided; Malfoy definitely needed watching.


End file.
